


Support Your Local Girl Gang

by Black_Hole_of_Procrastination



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts AU, Lady Marauders AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 07:36:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10407105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/pseuds/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination
Summary: Sansa had known for a while now that the future she wanted for her and Jon meant they’d have to come clean about their relationship eventually. Still, a selfish part of her had hoped to go on as they were for just a little longer. To keep Jon as her little secret.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sansapotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansapotter/gifts).



 

 

Still working on moving my tumblr fic to ao3. This was written for the lovely Sansapotter's birthday last year in collaboration with AliceInNeverNeverland's lovely edit (it can be found[ here](http://goodqueenalys.tumblr.com/post/141912912058/support-your-local-girl-gang-for-sansapotter)).

 

**Support Your Local Girl Gang**

 

“How much longer?” Margaery asked from her perch against the window. Her History of Magic homework lay scattered on the ground long forgotten in favor of painting Brienne’s nails an alarming shade of green. Sansa thought the color was a little much, but Brienne had surrendered her fingernails readily.

“Nearly done,” Sansa murmured. She leaned over the cauldron in front of her, and tried to concentrate on stirring the simmering mixture in a precise figure eight, careful to alternate directions every fifth stir.

She paused briefly to brush some of her hair off of her face with the back of her hand. The curls of steam coming from the cauldron were making her hair stick uncomfortably to her skin, and her knees were beginning to ache from kneeling on the packed dirt floor.

They were holed up in the empty potting shed next to Greenhouse Number 3. It wasn’t an ideal location for clandestine potion brewing, but after that nasty incident outside of the Hufflepuff Common Room in third year, they had come to the agreement that any scheming that could result in an accidental explosion was best kept _outside_ of the castle walls.

Truthfully, Sansa shouldn’t be involved in any of Margaery and Arya’s scheming. Not anymore. She was Head Girl now. She had an example to set with the other students. But when Arya had cornered her after breakfast, practically bouncing with excitement over her newest plan to humiliate Joffrey, Sansa could hardly say no, could she?

“Is it supposed to smell like burnt hair and my Gran’s perfume?” Margaery complained, seizing hold of Brienne’s wrist to examine her handiwork.

Sansa looked up from the cauldron long enough to shoot her glare.

“I don’t know, Margy? Who was it that earned an Exceeds Expectations on her Potions OWL?”

“Touché.” Margaery grinned. She had dropped her hold on Brienne’s hand to gather her hair to the top of her head, placing her wand to secure it into a haphazard bun. “But I don’t know how we’re going slip it into Joffrey’s glass without him smelling anything.”

Sansa sighed. They’d been over this part before.

“It won’t have a scent when it’s finished,” Sansa explained, rolling her eyes. “All we need is—”

Her words faltered as Arya suddenly came skidding into the potting shed, her bag swinging half off her shoulder.

“Got it!” she crowed, panting. She fished into the pockets of her school robes for a moment, before her hand emerged, holding out a handkerchief that had been gathered into a messy bundle. “House elf toenails, as requested!” She smiled triumphantly, passing off the wadded handkerchief.

Margaery made a disgusted sound while Brienne just laughed.

“I don’t even want to know how you managed to get those,” Brienne pulled a face while still sounding somewhat impressed.

Arya shrugged, fumbling in her pockets once more, this time pulling out an apple.

“Guess it pays to hang around the kitchens,” she grinned, biting into her apple with relish.

“It pays to hang around your mate, Hot Pie, you mean?” Brienne teased.

Sansa delicately opened the bundle to reveal a small pile of clippings. Pushing aside her own squeamishness she added them to the cauldron and waited.

At first, nothing happened. Sansa scanned over her dog-eared copy of Advanced Potion Making fretting over where she might have gone wrong. Then a hiss sounded from the cauldron, it’s murky contents slowly turning from a grayish brown to a vivid midnight blue. Sansa quickly rocked back on her heels, veering away from the spray as the cauldron nearly boiled over, a strangely musical whistling emitting from each popping bubble. This carried on for a minute or two, but then just as suddenly as it began, the boiling seemed to calm, and the potion began to settle.

“Is it done?” Arya asked, arching forward to have a look.

Sansa leaned over too, giving an experimental stir. The mixture was now light gold, and scentless. 

_Unassuming enough to slip into a glass of pumpkin juice_ , Sansa noted with satisfaction. She retrieved an empty vial from her school bag, and carefully filled it with the potion.

“One drop of this and Joffrey won’t be able to open his mouth without singing the school song for _hours_ ,” Sansa grinned, stoppering the vial and passing it off to her sister.

“Excellent!”

“So what’s the plan,” Brienne asked eagerly.

“It needs to be somewhere public.”

“There’s a Hogsmeade weekend coming up,” Margaery suggested. “What do you say, ladies? The Three Broomsticks crowded with students seems the perfect setting for our little experiment.”

Brienne and Arya both voiced their hearty assent to the plan, but Sansa ducked her head down, flushing.  Hogsmeade weekends were the only time the castle was empty of pesky brothers and meddling friends. The only time she and Jon could be alone.

“I can’t,” she said, busying herself with cleaning up the mess she’d made from brewing the potion.

“Why not?”

“I have plans,” Sansa explained vaguely, hoping her friends would leave it at that.

“Plans?” Margaery laughed. “To do what? Organize the prefect timetables again.”

“No, I just—”

“She just wants to sneak off to snog Jon!” Arya interrupted, a sly grin stretching across her face.

“Arya!” Sansa hissed just as Margaery squawked out a startled “What?!?”

Sansa felt heat gathering in her face as her sister and two best mates stared at her intently. She never meant for it to come out like this. She never meant for it come out at all. 

_No, that’s not true_ , she scolded herself. In the beginning, maybe, when it had just been her and Jon…relieving tension. But it was more than that now. More than stolen kisses and eager hands. More than heated moments in hidden nooks and crannies around the castle.

Sansa had known for a while now that the future she wanted for her and Jon meant they’d have to come clean about their relationship eventually. Still, a selfish part of her had hoped to go on as they were for just a little longer. To keep Jon as her little secret. 

_So much for that_ , Sansa sighed. It seemed the cat was out of the bag, and there was no sense in delaying the oncoming inquisition from the three girls circled around her.

“How did you find out?”

Arya rolled her eyes.

“Sansa everyone knows,” her sister said dramatically. “Nearly Headless Nick knows. The giant squid in the lake knows. The portraits in the North tower. All of the house elves. Mrs. Norris. Literally everyone.”

“But…how?!?” Sansa choked out. She and Jon were always so careful. Well... except for that time in the stairwell to the Astronomy Tower. And during rounds in the dungeons. And by the lake after the last Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff match.

“If you two wanted to keep it a secret you shouldn’t have been snogging in the middle of the Arithmancy section right where Peeves could see you.”

Sansa blanched. She remembered that night.

Jon had been late, a practice that had run over time, and he hadn’t bothered to change out of his Quidditch gear before sprinting to meet her in the near empty library. Sansa hadn’t minded. He had smelled like grass and sweat, and while his grip on her thighs as he pressed her against the stacks had been firm, his lips were gentle. Perhaps she had gotten a little carried away (that seemed inevitable when it came to kissing Jon) and maybe her mind was a little preoccupied with rucking up the shirt of his uniform to run her hands over the muscles of his stomach, but surely she wasn’t so distracted she wouldn’t notice a poltergeist with a taste for gossip hovering nearby?

“You mean, Peeves saw…”

“He did.”

“He wrote a dirty song about it too,” Brienne added, her face torn between guilt and amusement.

“See?” Arya smirked triumphantly. “Even _Brienne_ knows.”

“Hey!” The older Hufflepuff said, affronted. Before she and Arya could truly begin bickering, Margaery cut in.

“Wait a minute! We’re talking about Jon,” Margaery stared at Sansa incredulously. “Jon _Snow_.”

“Yes,” Sansa said tersely. _It wasn’t so unheard of…was it?_

“Wha…how?”

“We’ve been spending a lot of time together. Head duties and studying for N.E.W.Ts and everything,” Sansa shrugged, blushing. “One thing led to another and…oh shut up you two.”

Sansa reached out to swat at Brienne and Arya who were giggling and making kissy faces at her, but froze when she caught the hurt expression on Margaery’s face.

“I’m your best friend, and you weren’t going to tell me,” Margaery said quietly. “I thought you hated him.”

Sansa frowned, feeling guilty for lying to Margaery…and for all the things she had said about Jon before the start of term.

Sansa had not minced words when voicing her disapproval of Jon’s appointment to Head Boy, and as Arya was hardly a sympathetic ear out of deference to her friendship with Jon and Brienne simply refused to speak ill of anyone ever, Sansa had come to rely on Margaery as her sounding board for all Jon Snow related complaints.

There had been more than one night over the summer spent in Margaery’s bedroom, sneaking sips of Firewhiskey from a bottle they stole from her brother Garlan’s room, and giggling over Jon’s awkwardness and clothes and odd friends. Those nights seemed like the memories of another girl. 

_A petty, self-important, stupid girl._

A girl who didn’t know what it was like to be tucked into the warmth Jon’s cloak on a wintry day while he gently removed her gloves to blow warm air onto her frozen fingers. A girl who didn’t know the thrill of kissing Jon, the feel of his hand braced high on her thigh just under the hem of her school skirt, his lips eager and firm against her own. A girl who didn’t know what it was to sit between Jon’s splayed knees, his chest to her back, as they read over her Charm’s textbook, his fingers dragging absently through her hair. A girl who didn’t know Jon Snow.

Sansa knew better now. Jon was good. And honest. And kind. Jon was not Joffrey. Margaery of all people would understand that.

“I _did_ hate him,” Sansa finally admitted quietly. “But I was wrong.”

Margaery was silent, her face guarded as she looked Sansa over. Her stare was almost unendurable and the guilt Sansa felt seemed to double, making her stomach knot uneasily. Perhaps she should apologize? Not for her feelings for Jon, but for lying about them. Sansa was debating the right words to say when Margaery spoke at last.

“He must be one hell of a kisser,” she deadpanned, a small smile pulling at her lips.

“Eww!” Arya squealed, making a gagging sound, but she was ignored by Margaery who was now giggling madly.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad at you,” Margaery said, seeming more herself and nudging Sansa playfully. “But you can make it up to me by sharing all the gory details. Go on. Spill. How far have you gone? Is he as fit as he looks?”

Sansa blushed hotly. She was happy Margaery wasn't upset with her, but that didn't mean she wanted to discuss... _that._  For once, Sansa and her sister seemed to be of the same mind.

“Margaery stop!” Arya groaned. “I do _not_ need to hear this.”

Something quickly changed in Margaery’s smile. There was a familiar glint in her eye that Sansa had long since come to associate with trouble.

“Arya?” she began sweetly. “You’re on the same Quidditch team as Jon. You share a changing room. How does he look without his shirt on?”

“Enough Margaery. It isn’t funny,” Arya warned, hauling her bag over her shoulder and heading for the door of the shed.

“Oh come on, Arya! Don’t be a spoilsport!” Margaery cried after her, scrambling to shove her scattered homework and nail varnish back into her rucksack. “How else are we supposed to know if he’s good enough for our Sansa? Now stop being stingy. We need _details_.”

Margaery shot Brienne and Sansa a wink before sprinting (with a noticeable skip in her step) after a grumbling Arya.

Sansa watched them leave, feeling relieved to be spared from Margaery's teasing...for now.

“Does _everyone_ really know?” she asked, turning to Brienne.

“‘Fraid so.” The other girl gave her a rueful smile and a gentle pat on back.

Sansa heaved a sigh.

“Merlin help me.”


End file.
